


Counting Butterflies

by nayahasmyheart



Category: Glee
Genre: Comedy, Fluff, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-15
Updated: 2012-05-17
Packaged: 2017-11-05 10:52:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/405595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nayahasmyheart/pseuds/nayahasmyheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santana has been dreaming about Brittany her whole life. No, literally, Brittany has been a prominent character in every single one of her dreams. So what happens when Santana actually gets to meet real-life Brittany? Pure Brittana Fluff and Comedy</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just You Wait

So there’s this girl who always appears in my dreams.

Her name’s Brittany.

I’ve never met Brittany. 

But I want to.

She’s the love of my life.

Alright, yeah, I get it, you think I’m like some scary creeper freak.

She’s real, okay?

Don’t stare at me like that!

Like I’m some weird-ass alien monkey that just came down your chimney!

You don’t believe me, you can get the fuck out of my face.

Thank you and goodbye.

Anyone else?

No?

Good.

Now back to my story.

Where was I?

Oh!

So Brittany exists.

Somewhere.

And she loves me and wants me to be hers and dreams about me just like I dream about her and yeah.

Still don’t believe me?

Well, screw you.

She’s real and she’s my soul mate!

You’ll see.

Just you wait.

 

\- - -

 

“Britt-Britt?”

We’re lying down in the shadow of a tall oak tree in the heart of a meadow. The smells of flowers and nature adorn my nostrils. 

“Yeah, babe?”

“When am I gonna get to meet you? In real life, I mean.”

(This is a dream, okay.)

She looks sideways at me with that mischievous smirk that always drives me nuts. “I don’t know.”

“I just really think that it’s unhealthy to be in a relationship with a dream, y’know what I mean?”

Brittany snorts. “But I thought you love me.”

I roll in the grass until my body is safely latched onto hers. “’Course I do.” 

“But you want the real me.”

“Yeah. That way I can have you when I’m asleep and when I’m awake!” I raise my arms up triumphantly at the brilliance and genius of my mind. “And we can have real sex and stuff. Dream sex just makes me wet and frustrated when I wake up. I need a real tongue down in my nether regions, okay? Can’t you, like, tell the real you to find me?”

“I don’t know. I’ll try,” she kisses my nose.

“Alright,” I look up at the tree above us. Brittany remains quiet, so I turn my head and stick my tongue in her ear, wiggling it until she breaks down and laughs. “Good. Now let’s count butterflies.”

Because that’s what we do. We count butterflies. It’s like counting sheep, but way hotter.

“One butterfly,” Brittany points up as the beautifully blue creature flutters above us.

“Two butterflies,” I gesture to the branch above us, which serves as a landing space for a particularly white butterfly.

“Three butterflies,” Brittany sneaks a hand into my shirt.

“Four butterflies,” I keep my cool.

“Five butterflies.” She’s really close to me now, her lips on my neck, her hand caressing my chest.

“S—six butterflies.” So. Fucking. Turned. On.

“Seven butterflies.” She’s on top of me now, her hands snaking across my body and her teeth leaving marks on my neckline.

“Eight butterflies,” I say weakly as I become extremely embarrassed about how close I am to reaching climax already. She hasn’t even done anything to me yet!

“Nine butterflies,” she says sultrily as her hand moves to unbutton my jeans.

“Ten butterflies!” I scream as her hand slips under my panties. I break apart just at a simple touch.

See? I told you it’s hot.

 

\- - -

 

As expected, I wake up from dream sex hot and bothered. I roll out of bed and skip to the bathroom to take a freezing-cold shower. When I get out, I take a good look at myself in the long wall mirror.

“Well, hello, there,” I say softly as my hands graze my incredibly sexy naked body.

I put on my Cheerios uniform, tie my hair back in a firm ponytail, and leave the house, backpack tightly strapped on my shoulders.

McKinley High isn’t exactly what you’d call “pleasant.” It’s a ghastly old building with peeling plaster walls and a pathetic little sign outside of the front doors that reads, “Wel ome to Mc inley Hi h!”

I sigh in disgust. This is what we get for our hard-earned taxes?

I walk through the front doors into the familiar main hallway. Lockers are lined up on the walls from near to far. I stroll in with my head high and glance at the petty little insignificant students, daring them to try to irritate me.

I saunter into the choir room. The kids are all chattering excitedly among themselves, as usual.

I plop down on a chair and put my feet up on another, extracting my nail file from the side pocket of my backpack.

“Santana.”

I gaze up at Puck, the owner of the voice. I cock my eyebrow.

“Go out with me.”

My other eyebrow raises in astonishment. “Go out with you?” I ask in revulsion.

“I’ll make you a happy woman.”

“No freakin’ way,” I go back to my nail file.

“Come on, gimme a chance.”

“I have a girlfriend.”

Grave silence falls in the classroom. It’s so quiet, I swear I can hear hair rustling in the nonexistent wind. I reluctantly look up again.

“Wait—you’re gay?” Puck’s eyes are wide with shock.

“Mhmm,” I hum slowly. “Capital G gay.”

They simply stare at me.

“Well, then, allow me to let you borrow my strap-on…” Quinn mutters as the rest of the Glee club giggles in delight.

“Alright, you keep your opinions to yourself, or Ima go all kung-fu shit on yo’ ass,” I point my nail file at her.

“Santana, stop, just stop,” Kurt shakes his head in disbelief.

“What, fruitcake?”

“You’re not ghetto.”

“I’m not ghetto? Do you know where I’m from?”

“Lima Heights Adjacent,” they all sing in unison.

“Exactly!” I huff.

“Yeah, that’s not very intimidating since Lima Heights Adjacent is the best part of Lima,” Kurt continues. “You live in the suburb of suburbs.”

“You don’t know what goes on in there! What I’ve seen! My eyes have been scarred!”

“What, someone broke his thousand-dollar lawnmower?”

I open my mouth, ready to retort a snappy answer, except I have nothing to say. I close my mouth, cross my arms over my chest, and pout.

The great and invulnerable Santana Lopez has been defeated.

I narrow my eyes at them. This war is so not over.

“Anyway,” Rachel changes the subject. “So who is she?”

“Who’s who?”

“Your girlfriend,” she says slowly, as if explaining to a particularly rebellious first-grader that you aren’t supposed to eat glue.

“Oh. Her name’s Brittany.”

“Where’d you meet her?”

I gaze at their faces. Each one shines with curiosity.

“In my dreams,” I say carefully.

“Are you—are you serious right now?” Puck calls out incredulously. “You’re dating a fucking dream?”

“Look, she exists. I just haven’t met her yet. She’s sitting somewhere right now and daydreaming about me.”

They gawk at me skeptically, their eyes only half-showing under their critical eyelids.

“Just you wait.”

 

\- - -

 

So yeah there’s this girl who appears in my dreams.

Her name’s Brittany.

She’s real, okay?

And she’s mine.


	2. Are You SERIOUS?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Santana has been dreaming about Brittany her whole life. No, literally, Brittany has been a prominent character in every single one of her dreams. So what happens when Santana actually gets to meet real-life Brittany? Pure Brittana Fluff and Comedy

“Uh-this thing. Called love. I just. Can’t handle it…”

I hold the soap bar to my face like a microphone as scorching water cascades down my bare back.

“Uh-this thing. Called love. I must. Get ‘round to it, I ain’t ready! Crazy little thing called love.”

I sway my hips back and forth like Elvis. Because, really, if you don’t know that Freddie Mercury wrote this song to sound like Elvis, you need to go lie down in a coffin like a good little vampire and bury your pathetic, ignorant ass.

“I gotta be cool. Relax. Get hip. Get on my tracks… Take a back seat. Hitch-hike. And take a long ride on my motor bike until I’m ready. READY FREDDIE. Crazy little thing called love. Guitar solo!”

I throw my soap bar carelessly to the side and get out my air guitar skills. “Na na na na nana naNA! Tata ta ta ta too doo doo! Na na na na nana naNA! Doo doo doo doo too-doo doo doo… BOOM BOOM BOOM! Pa-la-la-la! BOOM BOOM BOOM! Pa-la-la-la! Dun dun dun…”

I turn off the water and leap out of the shower, still flailing wildly in my air guitar solo. I dry myself off with a towel, wagging my butt to the upbeat rhythm.

So I’m gonna take this time right now to tell you all a little something. You know those people who are all like, “Oh, yeah, I hate drama! I hate gossip!” Yeah, you. I’m talking to you. I’m gonna give you a little reality check, so listen hard. When you’re driving down the road, and you see a cop who pulled someone over, do you slow down to see what’s going on? When there’s a woman yelling at her husband in public, do you turn around but keep your ear to the shouting so that you won’t miss a word? Don’t even bother answering that. Because you do, and you know it. Because you are a little sheep in the herd that is humanity. And like everyone else, you bathe in excitement when something unfortunate happens to a random stranger. The Germans (yes, the Germans) created a word for this. Schadenfreude, taking pleasure in someone else’s misery. And it’s my favorite pastime.

You see? Stick this in the faces of all the people who think that I’m not smart and sophisticated! I have plenty of sophisticationness and intelligenceness, okay? I’m a fucking genius.

After putting on my perfectly fit Cheerios uniform, I leave the house, a toothy grin dominating my face. I don’t know why, but I feel like something special’s going to happen today. I march to school triumphantly, entirely ready for another day of amazingly snide remarks.

I stride gloriously into the choir room, only to see Mr. Schue’s many forehead flaps rise up at me. “You’re late.”

“So?” I narrow my eyes at him, daring him to speak back to Santana fucking Lopez. 

Wisely, he keeps his disgusting butt chin tucked down into his shirt. He watches me solemnly as I stroll very, very, very slowly to an empty chair.

I park my extraordinary ass in a magenta seat and look up expectantly at him.

“So…” he begins carefully. “This week’s lesson will be about idols. People who inspire us. Who do you look up to most in life? Rachel, why don’t you start us off?”

“Well,” Rachel turns to us, her eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. “There are many amazing people in this world, and this is so hard to choose, because, really, how do you pick one out of the millions? And—”

“Just shut up and tell us already,” I glare at the vertically challenged bundle of irritation.

She frowns at me. “Well, I would have to go with the queen, the duchess, the woman of perfection, the—”

“I swear to God, Frodo—”

“Barbra Streisand!”

“What a surprise,” I mutter. Then I smile sweetly at her, blink innocently, and say, “Well, you’ve got the nose for it.”

She rolls her eyes at the ceiling and looks away.

“Umm…” Mr. Schue looks uncomfortable. I leer at him victoriously. Just another one of my many bitches. “Okay, umm… Finn, why don’t you continue?”

“I think Tom Cruise is awesome,” he says with that idiotic smile of his.

“Oh, so you like feminine men?” God, I am so freaking brilliant.

“He’s not feminine!”

“His wife looks more masculine than he does!”

He stares at me with enraged confusion. I cock my eyebrow at him. “Who’s next?”

Sam shifts uneasily. “Sean Connery.”

“Oh, so you like your women real young, huh?”

“Stephenie Meyer,” Tina says warily.

“Are you serious? Why would you want to so horribly lack in talent?”

“Hugh Hefner,” Puck’s lips rise in a half smirk.

“You make me want to vomit all over Quinn here.”

Quinn moves away defensively. “Patti LuPone.”

“Those lips give me nightmares.” 

“J-Lo,” Mercedes raises her gaze to me.

“Dat ass!”

Artie’s eyes dart around the room. “Alfred Hitchcock.”

“What a creep.”

“Leonardo DiCaprio,” Mike’s eyes are worried.

“Sissy.”

Blaine raises his chin arrogantly. “Nathan Lane.”

“Gaaaaaay.”

“Bernadette Peters,” Kurt declares quietly.

The Glee members all turn their heads to me in expectation. I raise my eyebrows.

“What? I have nothing to say against Bernadette Peters. She’s fantastic.”

“Well, who would you pick, Santana?” Rachel asks cynically.

“Freddie Mercury, duh.” That’s a given.

“Who is that?” Tina asks, puzzled.

“Who—WHO IS THAT? ARE YOU SERIOUS?” I glower at her menacingly. She shrinks under my wrath. “Only the most talented man on earth! The lead singer and mastermind of Queen!”

“Like, Queen as in Bohemian Rhapsody…?”

I roll my eyes a full circle in their sockets and sigh heavily. “Yes,” I say slowly to her as if she’s an incompetent toddler, which, to be honest, she is, “Queen as in Bohemian Rhapsody.”

The rest of the class is boring as fuck, so I zone out and think about my amazing Brittany. The way her light blonde bangs fall across her strikingly blue eyes. The tiny freckles that colonize her nose. That little naughty smile when she knows that I will forever be her wonderfully helpless slave. Perfection, she is perfection. I smile dreamily and realize that I still have this feeling, deep in my gut, that something tremendous will happen today.

The bell rings to let us out into our next classes, and I make my way to the gym for Cheerios practice. The cheerleaders are all standing around in their little red skirts…so much temptation. But no. No, I am Brittany’s and Brittany’s alone.

“Sit down!” Coach Sue tramps in purposefully. We all lower ourselves to the squeaky floor and cross our legs obediently.

“First of all, I am beyond disappointed with this team. You all have still yet to reach eighty-five pounds!”

“But Coach,” a redhead named Amy whines, “if we lose that much weight, we won’t be able to function!”

“I don’t wanna hear it!” Her eyes widen with rage. “Weak, you’re all weak!”

I lean back on my hands and watch the scene passively. Just another ordinary day in Cheerios practice.

“Now!” she looks through her notepad. “We have a new Cheerio joining us today. Brittany, why don’t you come up here and introduce yourself?”

A tall girl with a blonde ponytail pushes herself off of the ground and walks shyly to Coach Sue. She turns around to face us.

My eyes threaten to pop out of their holes as I gawk at my love, my baby, my soul mate, my Brittany!

A little coy smile appears on her gorgeous face. “Hi, I’m Brittany.”

It’s seriously like slow motion, like in the movies when two lovers see each other across a field of daisies and fall into each other’s arms. I jump up to my feet and flail my arms as I skip to her, an absolutely ecstatic smile on my face. “BRITTANY!”

I fall into her arms and kiss her passionately. Finally! I’ve waited for this moment for such a long time! My whole freaking life!

I retreat from the fervent kiss, happier than I’ve ever been. 

Except…wait…

Brittany’s jaw is hanging down to the floor, her face frozen in a petrified scream.

“Britt-Britt?” I inquire cautiously.

Her face remains in that same unyielding expression of horrified terror.

Oh, no.

She doesn’t know who I am.

OH NO.


End file.
